CRESTONE PEAK
14,294 ft.
July 26, 1998
By Tim Briese
I picked up my friends Tony Sciacca and Tim Figge and headed south to Westcliffe on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Tony and Tim had climbed only a handful of 14ers before, but they were undaunted about joining me on this attempt of a very difficult peak. It was a little tight for three of us in my Toyota pickup, but it was the only vehicle I had that I dared to drive up the extremely rough four wheel drive road to South Colony Basin. It took about an hour to bounce the five miles up that rough route, and we arrived at the trailhead about 5:30.
We found a nice campsite beside a stream about 50 yards beyond the trailhead. It was cool and damp as we set up camp, and afterwards we sat under a tarp that Tony had brought and ate dinner as a shower of rain pattered down. Presently my friend Brian Schultz came walking up and joined us, having just driven in from the San Juans that afternoon after his climb of San Luis. It was good to see him again and discuss the peaks he had climbed that week. After the rain stopped we started a campfire and sat around warming ourselves by its cheerful flames the rest of the evening. It was pleasant and relaxing sitting beside the fire in the dark as the stream sang its watery tune nearby. Later that night after we retired I was cozy and comfortable in my mummy bag in Tim’s big dome tent, but sleep was elusive because I was keyed up in anticipation of our climb the next day.
We arose in the semi-darkness at 5 a.m. and hit the trail at 5:40, in chilly, damp conditions. It had rained during the night and the sky was still overcast. It was just getting light as we headed up the rocky lower section of the trail toward the basin above. As we hiked along through the woods we came to an open spot where we were greeted by an impressive view of the Crestone Needle, whose summit was hidden in a mantle of misty white clouds. As we neared Lower South Colony Lake we were momentarily confused by a myriad of trails that headed uphill out of the valley to the west, but after thrashing about in the wet bushes for a couple of minutes we found an acceptable route. As we began the grinding ascent up the steep trail out of South Colony Basin toward Broken Hand Pass, Tony began to feel quite ill. We waited several times while he rested, and Tim offered to return with him to camp. It really looked like he was not going to be able to continue, but Tony is a tough and tenacious fellow, and after taking some Rolaids and lying down for a few minutes he miraculously got better and we pressed on.
At about 7:40 we reached Broken Hand Pass at 12,900 feet, after a very steep scramble just below the top. We paused to rest a while and to enjoy the view of the South Colony Lakes far below.
We had chosen to climb Crestone Peak by way of the southern approach up the Red Couloir, in the belief that it is safer than the more commonly climbed route up the ice and rubble-filled north couloir. Our route required more elevation gain, though, since we had to go up over Broken Hand Pass and then descend 600 feet to Cottonwood Lake on the way to Crestone. The additional effort was worth it to us in order to take the safer route.
After resting a few minutes we quickly made the descent to Cottonwood Lake, which lay in a beautiful grassy valley below to the west. We hiked past the lake a short distance and then turned to the right and followed a faint trail up into a basin beneath the south face of Crestone. We paused here to carefully study our maps in order to select the correct route up the rugged face. The peak was shrouded in clouds above 13,000 feet, which made it difficult to identify the Red Couloir, but it was crucial that we do so. Fortunately Brian had brought along a photo from a guidebook which was a great help in identifying our route. We struck off across the grassy tundra toward the couloir, and circled around to the right to avoid some ominous-looking cliffs at its base. After climbing some grass and rock covered slopes we got into the couloir above the cliffs. A small stream of water was cascading down the middle of it, with occasional waterfalls flowing over smooth rock steps. It was an enchanting, but forbidding place.
We began the rugged thousand foot climb up the steep couloir, and soon pierced the cloud ceiling and entered the fog. The rock was wet, which made the climbing rather tedious. We scrambled up through areas of rubble and loose rock, and at other places we scaled smooth, slick rock faces, or went around or directly up steep snowfields. It was an adventurous climb, at times exhilarating, and at other times nerve-racking, but it never quite felt dangerous to me. There was a faint trail in places, but on this lightly climbed route we generally resorted to picking our own way upward. Routefinding was simple, for there was no other option but to go straight up the couloir. There seemed to be more loose material in this couloir than I remembered on the Crestone Needle, so rockfall is a clear danger when any climbers are above. Fortunately, though, there was no one else on the mountain this day.
We stopped frequently to rest on the scramble up the couloir, and eventually we reached the Red Notch at its top. At 14,180 feet, this notch separates the main summit of Crestone from its subpeak to the east. This was an exciting place to be, even though we could see only 20 yards in the fog. Dropping off steeply on the other side of the notch was the ominous-looking north couloir. It looked nearly straight down from this perspective, and we were glad we hadn’t attempted to come up that way. The remaining 75 yard scramble to the summit was steep and fun, as we carefully skirted along edges above dropoffs.
It was an exhilarating finish as we scrambled up over the last few rocks to the top, and Brian celebrated the occasion by letting out a spontaneous yell. The summit was an exciting place, consisting of a small pinnacle of rocks, with eerie dropoffs on all sides fading off into the fog. We probably would not have been so nonchalant as we stood up there taking pictures of each other if we could have seen the exposure below. I would love to have seen the views from this vantage point. There was a small Swedish flag on the summit that had been placed there by another adventurous soul. According to the summit register we were the only ones on the peak so far that weekend. This difficult mountain sees much less traffic than most 14ers.
Soon we began retracing our steps, tediously picking our way down across the wet rocks we had climbed up. It was not as difficult descending the couloir as we had anticipated, but we had to be very cautious to avoid rolling rocks down on each other. I dislodged a rock which rolled against the back of my own leg, and it hurt for several days afterward. I don’t like to think about what a rock moving with more speed and momentum could do.
We descended back out of the clouds as we neared the base of the couloir, and we looked back up the ominous thing in awe. The beautiful green valley beckoned below. This climb had been the stuff of fables, as we had left a verdant meadow to climb up a forbidding mountain into the clouds to a wild and mysterious place.
I felt lighthearted but exhausted as we continued on the easy hike back down to Cottonwood Lake. The 600 foot grind from the lake back up to Broken Hand Pass was like rubbing salt in a wound, though, after all we had been through that day. The steep descent from the pass back down into South Colony Basin was a little rough on my tired legs, and it was a real pleasure to get back on some solid footing once again as we neared the lakes. About 4 p.m. we walked back into camp, completing the rugged ten hour hike.
After celebrating with a cold beer we broke camp and bounced back down the rough four wheel drive road to civilization. We stopped for dinner at a rustic café in Westcliffe before heading on home.
We had climbed the big one, or The Peak, as some respectfully call it. Crestone is indeed a difficult mountain to climb, and it ranks among the most difficult five or six 14ers in the state, in my opinion. Our successful climb, in somewhat marginal conditions, gave me confidence for other difficult climbs that lay ahead.
